


Of Ravens and Writing Desks

by comealongpixie



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Jewish Character, F/M, Past Child Abuse, and wonderland, does not take ouat:iw into account, i also take some liberties with the oz storyline, just let me live idk, past emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-28 15:23:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7646494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comealongpixie/pseuds/comealongpixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of adventures, portal-jumping, and piracy, Alice Kingsley's curse in Storybrooke is everything she spent her life trying to run from: a loveless marriage with a man in love with her sister. Although she clings to her marriage-and sanity-for her daughter's sake, she can't shake the terrifying memory of meeting that strange man in the woods-the only time she's ever felt awake, alive, <i>real.</i></p><p>And then one day a woman in a yellow bug rolls into town, and everything begins to change. And as hard as she tries, Alice begins to realize that she can't run from reality. Not this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Storybrooke (Prologue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice tries to rob the Dark One and gets arrested.

" _It's a lot easier to be lost than found. It's the reason we're always searching and rarely discovered-so many locks, not enough keys_."

-Sarah Dessen

 

_Click._

 

The lock to Gold’s shop opened, and Alice straightened up and tucked her lock pick into her back pocket. Then she turned the doorknob gently and stepped inside.

 

Her entry was almost soundless. It had been awhile since her last b&e-over thirty years, apparently, which was one aspect of the curse that she was still trying to wrap her head around-so it was good to know that she hadn’t lost her touch.

 

More angry than frantic, Alice wasted no time in searching Gold’s shop. And yet all too soon she heard footsteps. She straightened up and tried to make her way to the nearest door, but too quickly the light turned on with a _click._

 

“Miss Kingsley. What on Earth are you doing here?”

 

* * *

 

**_Twelve Hours Earlier._ **

 

Alice stormed into Gold’s shop, the bells jingling wildly behind her. As the door shut behind her, she was entirely immersed in the cool air of the shop, and maybe under better circumstances, it would be a relief from the hot summer air outside.

 

As it was, she hardly registered the change. All she saw was red. Maybe it was having realized that she’d been living a lie for what was apparently thirty years, or dealing with the sudden warring realities screaming in her head, or any of the other thousand things that had happened in the last week, but she was in no mood to be doing business with an immortal shyster who went around calling himself the dark one.

 

Said shyster was behind the counter, crouched over, no doubt inspecting some trinket from the shop. He had his back to the door, but spoke before she could announce herself.

 

“Miss Kingsley. What an unexpected surprise.”

 

Alice didn’t respond. “Where is it?” she demanded.

 

Gold sighed in a long-suffering sort of way and straightened up before turning around to face her. “As much as I appreciate your forthrightness, I’m gonna need a little more detail, deary.”

 

Alice slammed her palm on the counter. “Dammit, Gold, cut the crap. You know what I’m talking about. Where’s. _My._ **_Sword?_** ”

 

Gold leaned forward, his demeanor obnoxiously calm. “Your sword? Are you referring to the blade you so generously gifted to me when I helped you out of that little predicament in Wonderland?”

 

“It wasn’t a gift,” Alice snapped. “It was part a deal, a deal that you broke when you didn’t hold up your end, and therefore a deal that is now null and void. Give me my damn sword, asshole.”

 

Gold’s attitude didn’t change. “I did, and therefore will do, no such thing. You know, ‘safe’ is a very vague term, don’t you think?”

 

“So is ‘violence,’ but you know it when you see it.”

 

Gold tilted his head, looking amused. "First off," he said, "you seem to be under the impression that I find you intimidating, so let's clarify that: I don't. Secondly, if you want your blade back, you could always make another deal-maybe be a bit more specific this time.”

 

Alice smiled bitterly. “Believe it or not, Gold, that’s one rabbit hole I’m not falling through again.”

 

“Well, it would seem we’ve reached an impasse, then.”

 

Alice just scoffed again, and turned to leave.

 

“Lovely to see you again, Miss Kingsley...or, is it still Missus Royce now?”

 

Alice paused, and glanced down at her left hand, poised on the doorknob. Her wedding band glittered up at her cheerfully.

 

She clenched her other fist and stormed out without another word.

 

* * *

 

**_Twelve hours and fifteen minutes later._ **

Despite the hardness of the chair in the interrogation room, Alice made a point of lounging on it in a careless sort of way. She leaned back onto just the two back legs, with her ankles crossed and resting on the edge of the desk.

****

The mom in her was very concerned over having her feet on the table and possibly getting the dirt from her shoes on it. The maverick in her, though, was very certain that this wasn’t her problem, and that was the side of her that was driving at that moment.

****

She looked up from picking at her nails as David came in and sat down across from her. He flipped through a manila file folder.

****

“So it looks like you broke into Gold’s shop at-”

****

“You literally arrested me fifteen minutes ago, David.” Alice tilted her head so she could see him around her boots. “Spare me the recap.”

****

David sighed and set the file side. “What were you doing in Gold’s shop?”

****

“Looking for a stolen possession.” It wasn’t a lie, at least to Alice. Acquiring something under false pretense was still a form of theft.

****

“Specifics?” David asked.

****

“My sword.”

****

“And you’re sure Gold has it?”

****

“I remember seeing it in his shop. During the curse.” Also not a lie. Just not the entire truth. No, Alice was sure Gold had it.

****

“Do you think he might’ve sold it to someone?”

****

Alice bit the inside of her lip and looked down, mumbling incoherently. She was quite certain that he had, but only because the sword was too valuable to give up possession of so easily. Saying that, though, might invite judgment-or worse, questions-as to how it came to be in Gold’s possession (as opposed to Alice’s) in the first place. Which she did not want.

****

David, thankfully, did not press her for more answers. Just sighed and pushed a pencil and a piece of paper towards her. “Alright. Try to draw the sword for me so I know what it looks like. I’ll get it back-but I’ll do it from withinside the law. Not without it.”

****

Alice smiled just slightly and finally swung her feet off the table, sitting upright instead. “I’m going to hold you to that,” she warned.

****

“I would expect nothing less,” David said with a smile before leaving the room.

 

* * *

 

_**Fifteen Minutes Later.** _

 

Alice was twirling the pencil in her hand when David reentered the room.

__

“Your husband’s here to pick you up. You done?”

__

Alice handed him the drawing by way of response, which David then examined.

__

“Huh. Looks...more like a dagger than a sword.”

__

“It turns into a sword,” Alice informed him. Then, at David’s skeptical raised brow, she added “Because that’s the strangest thing that’s happened in this town?”

“...Okay, you’re free to go,” David finally said. “Next time you have a problem with Gold, come to me first, alright?”

__

“Duly noted, your Highness.”

__

David studied her a moment, trying to discern whether she was being sarcastic or not, before shaking his head and holding the door open for her. He escorted her to the front of the sheriff’s station, where Leo was filling out the last of the forms for Alice’s bail.

__

Leo looked up at the sound of the door opening, and hurried over when he saw Alice, pulling her into a hug. “Hey…”

__

Alice hugged back for a moment before pulling back. “Hey...I-”

__

“It’s okay. Let’s just go home,” Leo said. Then, to David, he added “Thanks, Sheriff.” He handed David the paperwork before tugging Alice into the parking lot gently.

__

Alice followed him in silence, saying nothing until she was in the passenger seat of their car. “Where’s Grace?”

__

“She’s with Violet,” Leo replied as he got into the driver’s side.

__

Alice tried not to flinch at the name.

__

“What were you thinking, Al?” He added.

__

Alice just scoffed in response.

__

“Come on, tell me. What’s so important about this sword, anyway?”

__

Alice sighed and looked out the window. For a moment, she considered telling him-but what good would it do? It wouldn’t change anything.

__

“It’s a long story,” she said finally. “I’ll tell you about it later. Can we just go home now? I’m tired.”

__

Leo sighed and started the car, and they drove home in silence.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is just kind of like a prologue/preview thing; this takes place very shortly after the curse breaks (as you may have gathered). after this we go back to the beginning of season one and explain how we got here. 
> 
> uhh i don't have a lot to say except that alice's faceclaim is gal gadot and leo's is chace crawford but as you can picture them however you want u do u
> 
> anyway i hope you enjoy this and if you have a second i'd love to know what you think!


	2. Land Without Color

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two little girls make big plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (cw for parental emotional abuse in this chapter.)

_"When she was just a girl, she expected the world."_

-Coldplay

 

**The Land Without Color**

**Many Years Ago**

 

The gardens at the Kingsley estate are small compared to that of their contemporaries. But to the two children who play there, it may as well be the entire world. 

Alice has never been good at hide and seek. She is decent enough at the former, to be fair, but the latter is always a struggle. She gets lost-in her own mind, in the song of a bird, in the feel of the leaves of the hedge maze on her palms. In far-off sound and flashes of color-she doesn't know what that means, not yet, but that only makes it all the more captivating. 

Her sister Violet has accused her of faking. Pretending to be bad at seeking so she'll get to hide all the time. Alice doesn't know how to explain it, so she'd told Violet that she must just be better at hiding. 

Violet is two years younger than Alice, and had been delighted at the idea of being better than her older sister at something, and so she had accepted this. 

Now, though, Alice is determined to stay focused. She's not altogether successful, but the sound of a muffled giggle from above draws her attention, and there she is-Violet tucked between the branches of the fig tree like a bluebird, a palm clapped to her mouth. 

"Found you!" 

Violet looks down, and looks as if she's about to speak, but falls out of the tree before she can get the words out. 

There's a split second between Violet falling and Violet landing that Alice has to make her decision as to what she's going to do. 

It is not a wise decision. She is nine years old.

She steps almost directly into her sister's collision course and reaches out her arms to catch her, like in the illustrations in their books. Unfortunately, nobody has drawn Alice any upper body strength, so she collapses. 

The end result is this: Alice, flat on her back, aching, but fine; Violet, sitting on Alice's stomach with her legs stuck out perpendicular, scared and wide-eyed, but also fine.

There's a long moment of silence as they process. 

"Found you," Alice repeats finally, weaker this time. 

"Only because I laughed, because that was the third time you'd circled the tree." Violet says defensively, gesturing to the tree in question. 

Alice considers this. "Fair enough," she decides. She wants to keep fighting, but recently she's become aware that, as the oldest, she has certain responsibilities. Like catching Violet when she falls. Or like ending fights before they start. Taking the high road, or some such. It's annoying, but she takes pride in it all the same. 

"Now get off me," Alice says, shoving her sister onto the grass. This is not as high a road as she feels she's expected to take, but she doesn't dwell on it. 

Violet opens her mouth to say something, but is cut off again by the sound of their mother calling them in for supper. She looks over. Alice has already gotten back to her feet, and is extending a hand. "Race you?"

Violet doesn't say anything, just grins and takes her hand.

 

* * *

 

 

“Honestly, Alice, one of these days you’re going to have to grow up and stop spending your days running around the garden like an animal.”

Mrs. Kingsley says something to this extent on a near-daily basis, so Alice doesn’t put much stock in it, and doesn’t reply. Just grimaces as her mother pulls a brush through her hair, trying to get the twigs and leaves out. 

Violet is upstairs, changing into a dress that isn’t marred by loose threads and grass stains. Her hair, fair and silky, doesn’t tend to collect foliage the way Alice’s thick, dark curls do, but the rest of her is no more immune to wear and tear than her sister.

The door opens at the same time the grandfather clock began to chime. 

Alice sits up straight quickly, staring intently at the window. The patriarch of the Kingsley family seems to bring an almost tangible miasma with his arrival; the air always gets thick and cold when he walks in the door. Alice isn’t sure if the rest of the family feels that chill every evening at 8, because he doesn’t seem to hate them the way Alice is certain he must hate her.

She glances surreptitiously at her father in the hallway, taking off his coat and hanging it on the rack. He turns to them, and catches her eye in the process, and she shrinks at his cold, hard gaze, and looks away quickly.

While her parents exchange greetings, Alice listens intently for her sister’s footsteps, hoping that Violet makes her appearance soon. There’s a pang of shame that comes with willing her little sister to protect her-that’s her job, after all-but their father always seems softer when Violet is around. Maybe his affection for his youngest distracts from his disdain for his oldest. 

Sure enough, as soon Alice hears Violet’s dainty steps approaching down the stairs, the air becomes infinitesimally less charged. She relaxes slightly as her mother ties her hair back into a ribbon, and repeats her nightly mantra to herself

_ Just make it through dinner. Just dinner.  _

 

* * *

 

 

Dinner is a quiet affair, as usual. Father talks about work and Mother listens and the girls pretend to listen too. Violet is better at that than her sister; when Alice’s mind wanders off, her eyes tend to follow them. 

“Alice.” She snaps back to the present at the sound of her name in her father’s smooth, cold baritone. 

Sometimes her manners wander, too. 

She realizes what she’s done without being told and takes her elbow off the table quickly, but not quickly enough. 

“What happens when a young lady forgets her table manners, Alice?”

Alice does not answer, because she does not know. His discipline changes every time, the only variable about him. 

“She goes to bed without supper.” Her father does not lose composure as he issues this sentence. Alice glances helplessly at her mother-sometimes she defends her, talks her husband down-

But no, not tonight. Mrs. Kingsley shakes her head imperceptibly. Alice’s shoulders slump, her face burning in humiliation as she slips off her chair and slinks upstairs, away from her father’s cold rage.

 

* * *

 

When Violet comes into her bedroom after dinner, the lights are off, and for a moment she thinks that Alice has actually followed the rules and gone to sleep. It takes her a moment to recognize the lump on Alice’s bed as pillows strewn about haphazardly, instead of Alice herself. Before she can wonder where her sister is, however, she hears her whisper:

“Violet?”

Her eyes are adjusting to the darkness, and she can just see Alice peeking up from behind her mattress, her eyes wide and hesitating. 

Violet nods. “What are you doing?”

“C’mere,” Alice replies, ducking back behind the bed. Violet dutifully makes her way across the room and finds her sister lying on her belly on the ground, with a large map strewn out in front of her. 

Alice doesn’t look up from the map, but pats the ground next to her. Violet lays down in the spot indicated, and tries to mimic Alice’s posture. 

“Where’d you find this?” Violet asks, studying the map intently. The colors are bright, even under the dim lighting, and the vertical edges are curling up slightly. Alice has it flattened out using two heavy books as pins, but the parts that aren’t directly under them are still curved up and around. Violet smooths out the edge closest to her, and it pops right back into it’s shape when she’s done, like it’s trying to escape. 

“Nicked it from Dad’s study,” Alice says carelessly. “Where do you want to go?”

Violet shoots her sister a look. “We’re too little to go anywhere.”

Alice finally looks up from the map, but only to roll her eyes. “When we’re older, dummy,” she says.

Violet considers this. “Where do  _ you _ want to go?”

“Everywhere.” Alice pauses, then adds “Far away from here.”

“Then I’ll just follow you.”

Alice nods, satisfied with this. Then she points to a spot on the map. “This is where we are,” she says. “I think we should go here-” she drags her finger across the paper until it reaches the nearest sea-“and then from there we can follow the coastline…” she demonstrates this with her finger. “...And go anywhere we want.”

“Can we go on a ship?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then.” Violet tires of holding her chin in her hands, and her elbows hurt from being pressed against the hardwood floor, so she collapses, laying her head on her crossed arms. She looks up at her sister as well as she can. “Who will go with us?”

“We’ll go alone.”

“Girls can’t travel alone.”

“Then we’ll be the first.”

“ _ A-liiice _ ,” Violet whines. “I don’t want to get in trouble.”

Alice does not feel like explaining adulthood to Violet just now, so she turns onto to her side to face her. “Then I’ll dress you up as a boy and then we can go.”

Violet’s response is an annoyed, wordless whining sound before burying her face in her arms. “No!” Her words are muffled. 

“Okay, then, we’ll take Victor.”

Violet peeks up at her sister. “Only if you don’t marry him,” she says. 

Alice makes a face. “I am not going to marry Victor.”

“Okay good. Cause if you’re married, it won’t be fun anymore.”

Alice feels like she should correct her sister, but she doesn’t really have any argument. Marriage  _ does  _ sound dreadfully boring.

Finally, she says “Then we won’t get married until after we’ve seen everything. It’ll just be you and me.” She extends a pinky, which Violet takes in her own. 

“You and me,” Violet repeats. “Promise?”

Alice nods, and shakes their hands. “Promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO MEETS EMMA NEXT CHAPTER!!!


	3. Storybrooke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice meets Emma, resulting in an impromptu job interview.

_ "Everyone thinks that we're perfect _

_ Please don't let them look through the curtain" _

**-Dollhouse//Melanie Martinez**

 

"So, have you been following the advice I gave you in our last session?"

 

Alice can tell that Dr. Hopper does his best to make his office as welcoming as possible. Psychiatry is a medical field, technically, but his office, with it's plush couches and landscape paintings on the walls, is a far cry from the cold sterility of a doctor's office. There's no need to disinfect here; crazy isn't contagious. And all he wants is for them to open up.  _ The first step is admitting you have a problem. _

 

Maybe next week, she decides, and smiles. "Absolutely. I think it's helping. Don't you-"

 

She cuts herself off.  _ Don't speak for him. Let him voice his own thoughts and feelings. _ Hopper is silent in front of them, taking his own advice, but she can hear his voice - firm, but gentle, and nonjudgmental - all the same. 

 

She turns to her husband, giving him her full attention. "What do you think?"

 

Leo takes a moment to respond, and she's not sure if he's thinking or if he just hasn't been paying attention. "Hm? Oh, yeah. I absolutely agree. I think it's helping."

 

Dr. Hopper glances between them. He can tell something's amiss - he usually can. Alice holds her breath like she always does, waiting for him to call them on it, but as usual, he lets it go. 

 

"Great," he says finally. "That's really great. We're making progress. So, before we end the session, is there anything else you'd like to bring up?"

 

Alice shakes her head. "No - I mean. I don't. Leo?"

 

Leo thinks for a moment-or pretends to, she's not sure-and then shakes his head. "No, nothing I can think of." He stands up, extending a hand to help Alice up - completely unnecessary, but chivalrous nonetheless. Alice takes it and stands up.

 

"Thank you so much, Doctor Hopper," Alice says. "We'll see you next week?"

 

"Of course. Actually, Alice, could I talk to you alone for a minute?"

 

Alice freezes. Just for a split second, but she does. The room feels very cold to her all of a sudden. Her smile slips, just for a moment, and she holds Leo's hand tighter. 

 

This all happens in a fraction of a moment, and then she forces herself to relax. What a stupid, childish reaction.  _ You're a grown woman. You're not in trouble. _

 

"Of course," she says, and looks at Leo. "I'll be out in a second, okay?"

 

"Okay. I'll start the car." He kisses the side of her temple briefly, shoots a "Thanks again, Doctor Hopper," at the man in question, and then leaves the room. 

 

Alice turns to face him, resisting the urge to reach for the door. "What's up?"

 

"I just wanted to ask you if you'd considered my suggestion of individual sessions? You know, I really feel like you'd be able to open up more without Leo there."

 

Alice smile tightens. "I just...I don't feel like that's necessary," she says finally. "I'd rather just stick with our current sessions, if that's alright."

 

"Of course." Hopper sounds disappointed, albeit in a resigned sort of way, but he doesn't verbalize it. "It's entirely up to you. Just...let me know if you change your mind, alright?"

 

"I will, I promise." She reaches for the doorknob. 

 

"And remember what I said, about getting out of the house more often?"

 

Alice nods. Her smile gets a little less forced.  _ That I can do. _ "Working on it," she promises.

 

"Good."

 

Alice leaves then, and as she walks down the hall she can hear the door swinging closed slowly, slowly, as if offering her one more chance to go back and tell the truth. 

 

She lets it click shut anyway, and heads out to the car.

 

* * *

 

Therapy sessions are stressful, but the time after it is always vaguely cathartic - which is weird, because she never actually manages to open up.  Maybe it’s emotional exhaustion; Hopper’s questions bring things to the surface, worries she has to beat back down and not let on that she’s doing it. Or maybe it’s just the relief of getting out of the stifling office. Either way, she’s always sort of relaxed afterwards. She feels like she’s gotten away with something, almost. 

 

Her favorite radio station is on, and she taps her fingers on her legs to the beat, looking out the window. Sometimes Alice forgets why she and her sister had decided to settle here in Storybrooke, but at this time - it's late enough that the sky is dark, but early enough that all the little shops are still lit up inside, and she remembers -

 

Well, maybe not  _ remembers _ , exactly, but she looks out at the town and she imagines that her past self must have been even more charmed by it than she is now. 

 

Leo pulls into the parking lot of Granny's without a word, and she doesn't say anything. It's the routine. Therapy, then food. It's nice to have something she doesn't have to question. 

 

Leo opens his door. "You want your usual?"

 

Alice almost says yes, but then pauses, her mouth still open, waiting to deliver words she hasn't chosen yet. Getting out of the car at this specific time is not the same as Getting Out Of The House, as a general lifestyle change. But it's a start. 

 

"Actually, I think I'm gonna come in with you this time."

 

Leo smiles at this, and comes around to open her door. That's another habit she can't remember them starting, and another thing she doesn't have to question.

 

* * *

 

 

The air inside the diner is cold, hitting her suddenly as her husband opens the door, and it takes her a moment to register that the place is much more crowded than usual. Alice looks over at Leo, whose brows are raised same as hers. 

 

"You think this has something to do with the election?"

 

"There was an election?"

 

Leo smiles at this. "Do you want your usual or not?"

 

She smiles back. "Yes, please."

 

He nods, and goes to sit at the bar, waiting to have his order taken. Or their order taken. Whatever. It's to-go, which is why he’s not sitting at a booth with her, but she hates sitting by the bar, which is why she hangs back, leaning against the wall between the door and the first booth, and that’s when she notices the argument going on. 

 

It doesn't surprise her that Regina is at the center of a disagreement. It does surprise her that there's someone actually, literally disagreeing with her. Most people in town are fairly easy for Regina to push over. Alice likes to think that she's not one of those people, but she can't know for sure; she rarely interacts with Madame Mayor at all. 

 

The woman doing the disagreeing is a tall blonde wrapped in blue denim and red leather, and it takes Alice a moment to place her. Emma Swan. Yellow bug. Henry Mills' biological mother. Alice doesn't keep up with town gossip-or town anything, for that matter; she's still wrapping her head around the fact that democracy even exists in Storybrooke-but in small towns like this, sometimes things get so talked about, it’s like they start to saturate the air. You can’t help but breathe it in. 

 

"Graham didn't have a deputy," Emma is saying. "Not before me."

 

"An oversight," Regina replies. "One that I came across while reviewing the town charter, after you were so kind as to bring it to my attention."

 

"I'm sure."

 

"Miss Swan, regardless of what you think of me, the charter does say that the Sheriff requires a deputy. You can look it up yourself if you'd like, although I wouldn't spend too long mulling over it. You have a week to find a deputy, or your position becomes null and void and we go through all this, all over again."

 

"A week? You've gotta be kidding me."

 

"I didn't write the rules."

 

"Of course not."

 

"Good luck, Miss Swan."

 

Regina takes her leave, and Emma Swan waits until she's gone before sitting down at a booth.

 

"Great," she mutters. "I have a week to find a deputy."

 

Alice doesn't actually plan on what she does next. Her brain makes the connection between "deputy = job opening = getting out of the house" and doesn't bother to think the rest through before stepping forward. "I'll do it."

 

Emma looks up at her, looking surprised, and already skeptical. "Who are you?" she asks, before Alice can take it back or apologize or anything. Now she has no choice but to commit. 

 

"I'm Alice. Alice Royce." She extends a hand. "You're Emma, right?"

 

"Yeah. Word travels fast around here, I guess."

 

Alice nods. "So...you’re replacing Sheriff Graham, then?” 

 

Emma nods wordlessly. Alice can’t place the exact behavior signalling it - Emma’s demeanor doesn’t seem to change in any major way - but she seems upset. Which is reasonable, she supposes. Alice didn’t know the Sheriff well, but presumably Emma had some rapport with him. 

 

Emma studies her, and then get to her feet again, sizing her up. "Do you know how to shoot?"

 

“Yeah, my dad taught me.” Arguably she’s a little out of practice, but it’s probably just like riding a bike. And anyway, she probably won’t actually need to use a gun if she gets the job. It’s not like anything gun-worthy happens in Storybrooke. 

 

"Have you ever been arrested?"

 

"Didn't you have a baby in prison?" Another example of her brain making a connection between two facts and acting on it, without thinking any other factors through. Factors like "you have a child, and a husband, and should maybe talk to them before taking a job." Or "don't bring up that time your prospective future employer had a baby in prison, or else she will not hire you."

 

Unlike town gossip, which is unavoidable, sometimes her common sense seems to be actively avoiding  _ her _ . 

 

Emma doesn't seem insulted, though. "Fair enough. Meet me at the station tomorrow morning at nine. If you can shoot, you're in."

 

Leo takes this opportunity to make his appearance, holding a couple sodas and a plastic bag full of white styrofoam to-go boxes. "You ready?"

 

"Yeah," she tells him, and almost starts to leave before remembering her manners. "Uh, Leo, this is Emma Swan. Emma, this is my husband, Leo." 

 

Leo shifts the take-out into one arm so he can reach over to shake her hand. Always the gentleman. “Welcome to Storybrooke, Emma."

 

"Uh, yeah, thanks." Emma looks at Alice again. "So. You in?"

 

"I'll be there," Alice assures her, and takes the drinks from her husband. "I'll explain in the car," she tells him before he can ask.

 

He nods, and glances at Emma again. "It was nice to meet you," he says genuinely. 

 

"You too," Emma says, but her gaze quickly shifts back to Alice, still deciding what to think of her. 

 

Alice waves, and goes back out to the car.

 

Leo carefully arranges the take-out boxes in the backseat, and then opens the door for her (she waits by the door patiently; getting in by her own feels wrong. Not forbidden or anything, just not how they do things.) Then he gets into the driver's seat, and finally asks "what were you and Emma talking about?"

 

"She's the Sheriff and she needs a deputy apparently? And I offered myself for the job and now I have a job interview tomorrow."

 

"Huh." Leo pulls out of the parking spot.

 

"You're okay with that?"

 

"Of course. Doctor Hopper said you should get out of the house more. It's just...a unique way to get back into the workforce. Your last job was at a bookstore."

 

Ah, yes. Where they met. Alice remembers liking working at Epstein’s, but she's not sure she'd like it now.

 

"I'm a woman of many talents," she tells him, and takes a sip of her soda.

 

He smiles, and takes his right hand off the wheel so he can reach for hers, and for a split second she remembers the bookstore a little more vividly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, quick note: Alice picking up on Emma being upset about Graham is a result of the emotional abuse depicted in the last chapter; a lot of abuse survivors end up becoming very empathetic (sometimes to really weirdly accurate levels) as a side-effect of hypervigilence.
> 
> Also, a fun fact: I named the bookstore Epstein's because it's the last name of the man who voiced the bookseller in Beauty and the Beast!
> 
> Anyway, as usual I'd love to hear what you guys think. Any predictions for the next chapter? Anything you're hoping for? Any concrit? Let me know!


	4. Storybrooke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice dreams of cheekbones past. Jefferson is a huge asshole, but not in the way Alice thinks he is. Regina pays Alice a visit.

_ I was as pure as a river but now I think I’m possessed _

_ You put a fever inside me and I’ve been cold since you left _

-Haunting//Halsey

 

 

Alice never gets tired of the woods; there’s always something new. Just when she thinks she’s got them memorized like the back of her hand, she finds some new pathway, some new knot of trees, something different than last time. 

 

Sometimes it seems like the woods are the only fluid thing about Storybrooke, the only part of her life that isn’t static. 

 

She’s wandering through a familiar pathway--the one that starts just by her backyard, and takes her through the scenic route to the other end of town--when she hears footsteps behind her. Twigs always snap and grass always rustles here, but not in such precise measures. It’s probably nothing, just the disruption, the sound and the sudden loss of solitude that’s got the hair on the back of her neck standing on end, but she turns anyway. 

 

The intruder is standing a few paces behind her, smiling in a friendly way. He’s handsome, she’ll admit that--dark hair, sharp cheekbones--exactly her type. Or what her type was before she was married, anyway. 

 

(Her heart skips two beats--one because of his smile, then a second out of guilt for the first.)

 

“Hi,” he says. 

 

She’s still vaguely annoyed with him for disturbing her scarce alone time, but her parents raised her better than to say so. “Hello,” she says politely instead. There’s a quizzical note in her voice she can’t suppress, though.

 

“Sorry to bother you,” he says, and she admits, he’s hard to stay mad at. “You dropped this.”

 

She steps forward to see what he’s holding in his extended hand-oh. 

 

She swears as she takes it from him. (Her parents didn’t raise her that well, she supposes.) The compact mirror has been in her family for generations. It was a wedding gift from her mother, a rare show of affection. Maybe she should keep it at home, where it’s safe, but she’s never been able to bring herself to do so. She carries it everywhere with her instead, like a totem, or a good luck charm. 

 

“Thank you,” she says sincerely, slipping it into her pocket. “It--I don’t even know how I dropped it, it’s a family heirloom, I-” she shakes her head. “Thank you, so much.” 

 

“Of course.” A beat passes before he extends his hand to her, suddenly, as if he’s forgotten his manners. “Uh, I’m Jefferson.”

 

Something about his name is like a bell ringing in the back of her mind, and she can’t stop herself from saying it out loud; she needs to feel it rolling off her tongue. “Jefferson,” she repeats, and takes his hand. “I’m Alice. Alice Royce.” 

 

She could swear she sees something dark flickering in his eyes at the name, but decides she must be imagining it. 

 

“Nice to meet you, Alice,” he says. 

 

“You too,” she says, and withdraws her hand. She’s not sure if it’s true or not--something about Jefferson seems to repel her and draw her in all at once--but it’s the thing to say. 

 

Another beat passes, and she notices, again, how ridiculously good-looking he is. She tries to keep this observation at arm’s length, an objective fact, not something that means anything to her, personally. 

 

“So, uh, where you headed?”

 

It takes her a second to process. “Oh, uh, nowhere in particular. I just like to walk when I get the chance. It’s peaceful, you know?”

 

“Yeah. I know what you mean.” And his voice is soft and he’s smiling and she could swear he’s looking at her in a way male leads in movies look at their love interests. 

 

(And maybe there’s something to be said for the fact that romcoms are her point of reference and not, you know, her own actual marriage, but that’s another thing she decides to ignore for now.)

 

“Do you mind if I join you?”

 

And ordinarily she’d tell him “no,” because this is the only real alone time she has, and she wants the silence, and because something about him screams “danger” to her. But if she says no then he’ll leave and he’ll probably stop smiling at her and both of those things are inevitable anyway, but she can’t make herself let it happen just then. It’s not even that he’s attractive; it’s like he’s a train of thought that hasn’t reached its destination, like if she can keep him around long enough, she’ll figure out what it is about him that makes church bells and alarm bells go off simultaneously in her mind.

 

“Uh...sure. Yeah. Why not?” 

 

* * *

 

 

Jefferson asks her a lot of questions. And it’s a little annoying, but mostly sort of flattering. Which she feels kind of bad about, but maybe not as bad as she should. Mostly it’s inane stuff, like hobbies:

 

“What do you do, outside of losing family heirlooms in the woods?” Truthfully, she doesn’t really have any other hobbies, not anymore, so she just says she stays busy.

 

And where she’s from, because he notices a faint accent: 

 

St. Louis, but she makes him guess.

 

And foods:

 

“Have you tried the cheeseburgers from this one place downtown? Don’t tell anyone, I know it’s like heresy in this town-” and he sounds kind of bitter about that, but she doesn’t mention it, because sometimes she feels the same way, “but I think they’re better than Granny’s.” And no, she hasn’t because she’s Jewish, but she appreciates the tip and maybe she’ll try their veggie burgers sometime.

 

It’s not until they’ve almost reached the town line that things go wrong. 

 

Alice can tell when he’s about to ask her out. There's been a few moments over the last hour when she thought he might, and he didn't, and she thought she was imagining it, but no--she can tell now. He does that sort of sheepish thing men do, rubbing his neck like he's nervous, and asks if she wants to get coffee sometime. 

 

She's hit, all at once, with how much she wants to say "yes"--a sinking, guilty feeling in the pit of her stomach, like all the butterflies are dying at once.  

 

"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm actually--I'm married." She holds out her left hand, displaying her wedding band as if to prove it--to him or to herself, she’s not sure. 

 

It feels like a cage now. 

 

Jefferson hesitates for only a split second. Then: "He doesn't have to know." His voice is soft, and there's something dark under it. Something persuasive. Something threatening. 

 

She takes a few steps back, trying to subtly bring them fully out of the woods and into town, out where there are witnesses. 

 

"I'm not that kind of woman," she says. 

 

"We both know what kind of woman you are, Alice," he says, and that note of danger is no longer hidden. There's something wild and desperate and mad in his eyes. 

 

It's crazy,  _ he's _ crazy, maybe it's rubbing off on her, but she could swear that he says it like he knows her. It's like an accusation. Does he know what's gone on in her head for the past hour?

 

Thoughts aren't actions, she reminds herself. That’s important. For example, thinking about punching someone-which Alice does not do-is not the same as actually punching someone. Which Alice does. 

 

Her knuckles hit his jaw with a satisfying CRACK and his head snaps back. 

 

"Stay the hell away from me," she tells him. She borrows that dark, threatening tone of voice that he's used, turns it up to eleven, and throws it back at him. 

 

Then she runs.

 

Just long enough until she's on the other side of the street from the woods. Then she settles down into a long stride. She doesn't want to cause a scene. There's a part of her that's embarrassed of what's just happened. Like it's her fault, somehow. Maybe she did lead him on. She didn't mean to. Maybe she led herself on and it seeped out. She's always been bad at that line between her feelings and her actions. Her thoughts, her feelings, they creep out and touch everyone around her. 

 

That doesn't really justify what he did. Or didn't do. He never actually verbally threatened her, to be fair. It was all unspoken, never in his mouth, only in his eyes-

 

* * *

 

 

_ Knock knock knock! _

 

Alice jolts awake, upright on the couch. She’d been trying to get in a few more minutes of sleep before her job interview (such as it is) with Emma, but she knows now it’s not going to happen. She’s had this dream before such as it is--some mixture of a daydream, a nightmare, and a flashback. She’s run it through her mind so many times, both intentionally and--like now--otherwise, until she’s not sure which parts were true and which were embellishments she added on later. The one thing she does know is that there’s nothing restful about it. 

 

It’s a moot point, because whoever’s knocking on her door has just rung the bell, so they’re probably not going away anytime soon. She pulls herself to her feet, unsure of what to expect--maybe Emma, there because of a miscommunication? One of Paige’s teachers? 

 

But no. When she opens the door, it’s none other than Regina Mills standing on her welcome mat, holding a basket of red apples and smiling in a way that doesn’t meet her eyes. 

 

“Hello, Miss Kingsley. May I come in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. So I know this chapter does not paint a particularly flattering picture of Jefferson, or of his and Alice’s relationship, but I promise there’s more going on here than meets the eye, that will be explained later. Which is probably obvious but I love Jefferson and feel the need to defend him from my own writing. 
> 
> 2\. So to clarify the whole Alice-not-eating-cheeseburgers things for anyone who isn't aware: Judaism has a set of dietary laws dictating what foods may and may not be eaten and under what circumstances. You might be familiar with one of them (pork is forbidden, hence “Jews don’t eat bacon.”) Another one is that meat and dairy can’t be eaten together, hence: no cheeseburgers. 
> 
> 3\. I'm not gonna do the thing where I beg for reviews and give out prompts/ideas for them because it feels desperate at this point. If you feel like leaving a review or a kudos, it would mean the world to me, and would motivate me to update faster as well. Thanks.


End file.
